Isaiah drops gears and for the first time hits the brake. “As soon as I stop, get out.”
I don’t have time to ask what he means. Isaiah slams the car into Park, hops out and punches buttons on a security keypad. I do what he said and rub my arms as he eases my car into the garage, turns her off and relocks the garage door.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
We both jerk our heads to the right when a siren cries on the other side of the warehouse. Flashing blue lights reflect against the wall. Isaiah grabs my hand and leads me away from the police. “I can’t get busted here.”
My heart stutters. He’s holding my hand. A guy is holding my hand. Touching it. Like his fingers entwined with mine. I’ve never held a guy’s hand before and it feels good. So good. Warm. Strong. Awesome. And it would only be a million times better if the guy holding my hand liked me.
Or if I liked him.
Isaiah and I step out onto a bustling sidewalk. Fear slams into my body, and if it weren’t for his sturdy hand wrapped around mine, urging me forward, I would have stopped dead.
Oh, hell.
Holy hell.
Oh, holy hell with lettuce on top.
I’m on the strip. This isn’t the place you go when you’re seventeen. No. This is the place you go when you’re twenty-one. Or the place you go when you’re pretending you’re twenty-one. And in college. And want to get drunk. Or pretending to be in college. And want to get drunk. Or you own a motorcycle. And want to get drunk. Or you’re a prostitute. And want to get drunk. Or you’re a slimy guy. And want to get drunk.
My brother West comes here.
But me? I don’t.
Neon lights hang over bars and burly men guard the entrances. Long lines weave along the sidewalk as people wait for admittance. Guys loom over barely clothed girls. Most of the people on the sidewalks laugh. Some of them make out. All of them are sloshed.
Isaiah tugs on my hand, guiding me closer to him. Our arms touch and I shiver as if I was zapped by lightning.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” he says. “Cop cars are everywhere.”
I turn my head to the street and stop when Isaiah squeezes my hand. “Don’t look. We’ve got to blend in.”
“I don’t understand,” I say in a hushed voice. “We’re not in our cars. How would they know?”
Isaiah keeps his eyes straight ahead. “I only said I wouldn’t rat. I didn’t say anything about anyone else.”
My mouth dries out—West’s friends. Did they escape or are they telling the cops my phone number and address? Can this get any worse?
Isaiah lets go of my hand and in a blur, pushes my back against a cold brick wall. His body becomes a hot, thick blanket over mine. The fine hair on my neck stands on end and my eyes close at the sensation of his warm breath on the skin behind my ear.
I’m absolutely terrified, but at the same time my body tingles with a weird anticipation.
“There’s two cops walking the street,” he whispers.
Peeking beyond his biceps, I see the two blue uniforms stalking in our direction. “What do we do?” I barely breathe out.
His hands go to my waist—my waist! And they feel so right. I like this closeness. Maybe I like it too much. A guy has never been this close to me. Never. And I can’t believe it’s happening, even if it is to keep from being arrested.
My heart beats frantically. Isaiah is hot and scary and hot. Why on earth would a guy like him want to be anywhere near a girl like me?
It’s the adrenaline rush. That’s what it is. I like how he feels because I’m still experiencing the adrenaline rush from Isaiah’s NASCAR driving skills. His arm shifts, and I love how that movement causes his muscles to flex.
Stop it, Rachel. It’s not real. Focus.
“Kiss me,” he whispers. “If you kiss me we’ll blend in.”
My mouth drops open as if to make a sound, but nothing comes out. How do I say the words...I don’t know how to kiss.
Chapter 9
Isaiah
RACHEL’S BODY STIFFENS AGAINST MINE. I’ve scared her. Of course I have. I’ve thrown an angel against a wall, into darkness, and asked her to do something unthinkable.
The area between my shoulder blades itches as if I’ve got a bull’s-eye painted on my back. The cops must be scanning us.
She places her soft hands on my bare forearms and whispers my name with an edge of panic. “Isaiah, they’re looking at us.”
Girls like her never notice guys like me and damn me to hell for enjoying her touch and the sound of my name on her lips. I may be a lot of things, but naive isn’t one of them. Her dependence on me is because she’s terrified of the cops. “Tell me how close they are,” I demand.
“Very,” she breathes out.
“Are they still looking at us?”
She nods. Fuck.
Kissing would be better, but I won’t drag her further into hell by forcing her to be physical with me. I lower my head away from hers and hover my lips near her neck. Rachel’s chest moves as she sucks in air. God forgive me for scaring her. “Angle your head to mine to hide your face,” I whisper. “It’ll just appear like we’re hooking up.”
She does, and her forehead brushes against my cheek. “I’m sorry,” she says.
My eyebrows furrow. “For what?”
“For...for...messing this up. You would be safe if it wasn’t for me.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” I turn my head in her direction. Her face is centimeters from mine, and she looks up at me with wide, beautiful blue eyes. Above us, a security light flickers on, then off. I’m wrong. They aren’t blue. Those eyes are so dark they’re violet. “You could have left me behind.”